


Prideful

by NightmareWolf



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Natebit - Freeform, Wammy's Era, can be platonic if you want, mello is mentioned a lot, not much else to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareWolf/pseuds/NightmareWolf
Summary: With Mello gone, Matt has effectively lost his best friend. Although he likes Near, it feels like a form of disloyalty to continue being friends with him behind Mello's back.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Near | Nate River
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Prideful

**Author's Note:**

> dunno if this is any good at all but EH it was an idea and it was fun to write. Natebit is a good ship (although this story can be platonic if you desire)

Pride is worthless. God didn't deem it a sin for nothing. Yet we cling onto it as if it were a life line; as if it had meaning or worth. We let our actions—our _pride_ —dictate what we can and cannot do, even if it's pointless. And we recognize it. We recognize it's pointless, that pride is worthless, and yet adhere to it despite this. Because we weren't above human nature. Nobody was. And neither was Matt.

Just the mere thought that Matt was _better_ than anybody else—the idea that he was above those sinful emotions that corrupt humankind—made him laugh. Don't be silly; he was no better than the next guy. And though he knew this, it didn't stop him from realizing how odd his situation was. He was not above feeling these emotions, but he was self-aware of them. He _knew_ why he felt them. He knew why they were wrong and childish, and yet he did nothing to fix it. But, could it really be considered being self-aware if you refused to acknowledge it? But the fact he's contemplating this at all must mean he _has_ acknowledged it on some conscious level.

The knock on the door made him groan.

He didn't reply—perhaps if he feigned sleep they would go away. It's not like Matt talked to anybody these day; he preferred to stay in his room all day playing video games now more than ever. Mello had left Wammy's House unannounced five months ago—and it was taking its toll on Matt. His sleep schedule was shit, he kept forgetting to eat, his already terrible attention span was slipping, and he didn't want to talk to _anybody_. Was he being childish? Maybe, but it seemed fair in his mind. He _was_ a kid, after all. Fuck being a super genius or whatever, he didn't give a shit if he was technically the second smartest in the institution now. He was still fourteen; still a kid. And Mello was his best friend. Anybody would be upset if their best friend left without saying goodbye. Hell, Mello could be _dead_ right now for all he knew. He was only fifteen! 

"Matt, I know you're awake," a quiet voice spoke on the other side of the door.

Matt didn't respond. He lied still on his bed.

"I was wondering if you wanted to play Tetris," they spoke after a short pause. "It's been a while since we have."

"Go away, Near. I don't want to play," Matt answered back, raising his voice loud and clear to get his message across.

And for a moment, Matt wondered if Near got it through his stubborn head that he did _not want to see him,_ because the other side of the door was silent for half a minute. Matt was just about to settle with the idea that Near was gone before he heard the soft _squeak_ of the doorknob turning and the door opening, revealing Near standing in the doorway.

"You shouldn't be isolating yourself. Roger is concerned," Near told him with that flat, emotionless voice of his that always made him sound indifferent.

"Who cares," Matt grumbled.

"I care."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

Matt sat up, locking his eyes with Near's. "Since when have you cared for another human being?" he sneered. He knew the words were false before they even left his mouth, but he still said them anyway. He couldn't find it in himself to care not to.

"You know that's incorrect," Near retorted calmly, voicing Matt's thoughts. He stepped into the middle of the room. "Matt, just because Mello's gone doesn't mean we can't be friends anymore. He wouldn't be angry with you."

"Oh, so you think this is about _Mello_ now, huh?" Matt angrily spat, sliding off the bed and placing his feet on the wooden floor.

"I do," Near answered back, cool as ever. "I get the impression you feel that it'd be disloyal to him if we were friends...that, or you blame me for him leaving," he explained, his gaze not breaking away from a moment. "I want to assure you that neither is the case."

And those words—they make a sick dread crawl up Matt's chest; it makes his insides burn with rage and a desire to slap Near across the face. He's not too sure if it's just because Near's talking about Mello, or if it's his grief taking over, or because Near is voicing _exactly_ what he feels, but it pushes all the wrong buttons. He was fucking livid, and Near was an easy target.

"Shut the hell up, Near! This _isn't_ about Mello!" _Lie. Lie. That's a fucking lie._ "I just want to be alone but you always have to be a creep and keep trying to come into my room! If you want to talk about Mello, then fine—I see why he hated you so much! Now get out!" 

"Matt, you're being irrational." The fact Near doesn't even _flinch_ at his yelling, or look at all surprised or hurt pisses Matt off even more. if Near truly cared about him as a friend—as a _person_ —he'd feel _something_ by being yelled at. But he doesn't.

Only fueled by this response, Matt grabs a fistful of Near's baggy pajama shirt. He pretends not to hear the other's startled gasp as he effortlessly drags him over to the doorway and pushes him out, feeling a sick sense of guilt coating his insides like grease as the force causes Near to fall forward, hitting the ground. But pride is a funny thing—a worthless, terrible thing that doesn't let you admit when you're wrong. So, Matt just slams the door shut.

* * *

Matt and Near's friendship had always been an odd one. Before Mello left, Matt was always the one initiating a conversation with Near. He had to be the one to suggest they play some games together, or to sit down next to the other. Some days, they felt no closer than awkward acquaintances. On other days, they seemed to be inseparable twins. With such a finicky relationship, it's a surprise they were friends at all—especially given that Mello, Matt's best friend, _hated_ Near. You'd think that would be incentive enough for Matt to stay away from the albino in fear of pissing off his best bud, but no. Maybe because Matt was just that carefree, or because Mello didn't seem to mind entirely, but Matt made sure to spend adequate time with Near—if only to make up for the fact that his friend was a dick to him.

But now, things were different.

It felt wrong being friends with Near. With Mello gone, it seemed like betrayal, almost. He didn't want to replace Mello, not with his rival no less. He didn't want Mello to think he replaced him. But what are the chances of him meeting with Mello again? It's been months—Mello was long gone, possibly dead. Why should he let some worthless sense of loyalty—one that Mello clearly didn't care about—dictate his future?

Because it was human nature, and he wasn't above that.

Now, it was always Near trying to talk to him (albeit poorly). He always silently followed Matt around, came to his room, sat next to him and the whole nine yards. It would've been seen as a little creepy had Matt not known prior that Near is _terrible_ with social etiquette and showing his friendship. Everything he did just came off as rude or creepy; it's just how Near was. Matt never minded it previously, but now _he did._ Because he didn't _want_ to be friends with Near anymore.

_Another lie._

He wants to be friends with Near. He really, really likes Near. But it's wrong. It felt wrong—it _wasn't_ wrong but it felt like it was, and thus it would never feel _right_. So he should just give up, because he couldn't change human nature, and so he shouldn't try to. 

The other kids in the orphanage always talked about how L did the impossible—but even L couldn't change what was fundamental about humans. No matter how hard L tried, he couldn't create a new level of consciousness, or rewire how the human brain worked. It doesn't matter how smart you are, you're not God. Not that Matt believes in God, anyway, but he was, theoretically, the only person who could rewrite humanity. 

So, if he wasn't above envy, or greed, or pride—if he couldn't change human nature, and therefore couldn't overcome it—why bother trying? Sure, humble people existed, open-minded people existed, but even they have their stubborn pride.

But even if Matt had this stubborn pride like everybody else, did that really mean he was doomed to befall everything that came with it? Surely, having identified the cause, he could work towards a solution? He couldn't _fix_ it, per se, but everything didn't need to be as needlessly awful as it was, surely?

Almost as if it were a custom at this point, Matt scrolled through some websites on his laptop during the late hours of the night. Around 3:00 A:M, specifically. He almost contemplated hacking some servers and saving their confidential files onto his USB—a practice that frequently got him in trouble with Roger once he finds out he's been hacking Government agencies or L's computer—but decided against it. He was too lazy right now to do that, and didn't feel like getting into further trouble with Roger after not coming out of his room all day. Once he threw Near out earlier that afternoon, nobody had stopped by, and he hadn't left. Which...meant he was really, really hungry. And thirsty. 

Thinking now was a good enough time, he stretched, yawned, and closed his laptop. Hopping out of bed, he quietly worked his way out of his dark room and down the corridors of Wammy's House. It was a good few minute walk from his room to the kitchen. Besides being bigger than most house kitchens, it served relatively the same function and Matt planned to just have a bowl of cereal, or something of that sort.

But, something stopped him.

Connected to the kitchen—right next door to it, that is—is the livingroom. Much more spacious and open than a regular livingroom, but Wammy's House was hardly anything like an average house. But being in the livingroom isn't what stopped him. No, what stopped him was the fact somebody else was also awake—Near, who was currently writing something on the chalkboard attached to the wall, and hadn't noticed him. 

Matt contemplated going back to his room, or maybe sneaking past him to get to the kitchen, but his legs were already quietly carrying him towards the smaller male. His eyes focused on the white chalk writing against the backboard. It just seemed to be some sort of complex math equation that Near was solving. Matt rolled his eyes, finding himself to be _smiling_. Literally only Near does math equations at 3:00 A:M for fun.

But glancing over his shoulder and actually taking the time to read the problem—which was an equation consistent of many variables, square roots, and fractions (very complex, in typical Near fashion)—he actually found himself understanding the problem quite easily. He figured Near must understand it, too, but was surprised to find that he had made a mistake in one of the steps.

"You forgot to divide both sides by 7," Matt spoke up before he could think not to, and in a reasonable response, Near jumped almost a damn five inches in surprise and let out a yelp, whipping his head around with wide, frightened eyes.

And maybe it was just because Matt was tired or because Near actually looked sort of cute, but he started laughing.

"Jesus—Jesus Christ, Matt, don't scare me like that," Near stuttered, looking quite peeved (and flustered? Or was Matt just imagining that?).

"Sorry, sorry," Matt chuckled. "But seriously, here," he pointed his finger at a specific line in Near's solution, "you forgot to divide."

Near looked back at the chalkboard, and though Matt couldn't see his face, the quiet "oh," was all he needed to know that Near was genuinely surprised.

"You're right. My mistake." he grabbed the eraser, wiping away the writing.

When the board was clear, save for the equation he was trying to solve in the first place, he began writing again. In the dead of night, the soft _patter_ of chalk against the blackboard seemed almost too loud. In fact, Matt found his own _breathing_ to be too loud. He contemplated leaving Near to do his math problem and going to get cereal like he intended, but his feet wouldn't move. Like somehow, he was glued to where he stood, forced to watch Near write out some meaningless solution to a meaningless math problem.

Actually, he retracts what he said earlier—" _s_ _omehow_ he was glued to where he stood"—not somehow. He _knew_ what that "somehow" was. Frankly, he felt extremely awkward around Near knowing what transpired earlier that day, but he also felt extremely guilty. The kind of guilt that makes you feel sick and weighed down; the kind that makes you want to sleep forever. He knew pride dictated that he couldn't—rather, wouldn't allow himself to—apologize. But he also knew that nothing would ever change if he kept running away from his problems; If he just kept staying in his room all day, and ignoring Near, nothing would get better. He _knew_ what the problem was, he knew it both consciously and subconsciously, but he refused to dwell on it; to acknowledge it in a way that it would be judged or dissected.

But he wasn't going to let that stand in his way anymore. He may not be above pride or human nature, and maybe he can't overcome it, because he can damn well _try_.

"Near," Matt spoke, his voice sounding uncomfortable vibrating in his throat. "I'm sorry."

Near stopped writing on the board.

"You were right with what you said earlier," he admitted. "I'm afraid that it's wrong for me to be your friend now that Mello's gone. I know I shouldn't let the feelings of other people decide what I can and can't do but—I-I don't know it's just...it feels cruel, almost. I don't hate you, Near. Sorry I kinda...threw you out earlier. Literally." His words ended with a nervous, weak chuckle and he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

There was a tense moment of silence before Near turned around to face Matt, a small, almost invisible smile beaming on his face. "I forgive you," he replied back. "That is to say, I never truly thought you hated me."

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. "Well...I guess that's good?"

"I also highly doubt the possibility of Mello ever hating you for our friendship. He didn't have an issue with it for the past years, so it wouldn't make sense for it suddenly to be a problem," Near elaborated on.

"Yeah, I know, that makes sense, it's just..." Matt tilted his head back and sighed, lowering himself to sit on the wooden flooring. "He left without telling me anything. It's just hard to know what to make of that."

"I understand." Near placed the chalk in his hand on the wooden railing bellow the blackboard, sitting down next to Matt. "I believe his decision to leave was...spontaneous. And you know Mello is too prideful to admit when he's wrong."

 _I don't blame him._ "What makes you say that? About the spontaneous part, I mean."

Near's pale hand reached up to a lock of hair, twirling it around absentmindedly. "I believe he wants to catch Kira."

"Kira!?" Matt practically shouted his response, and Near had to give him a warning glare to keep his voice down.

Matt felt himself itch with embarrassment; he shook his head. "Sorry—just, he's going after _Kira_? Is he _trying_ to get himself killed? What's the point? L's already investigating Kira!"

Near didn't respond. He kept playing with his hair. Though he seemed perfectly calm and indifferent as always, the slight shift in position upon Matt's words and his slightly downcast look—it wasn't hard for somebody as observant as Matt to notice these telltale signs.

"Something happened," he guessed, though phrased it like a fact. "What aren't you telling me?"

Near continued to twirl his silky hair for a moment longer before responding. "If I tell you, you can't tell anybody else. This was suppose to be a secret between Mello, Roger, and I."

 _A secret?_ "What did he tell you?"

"L's dead. Kira killed him."

"L—" Matt's voice faltered; it died away into a pathetic squeak. The sentence, repeating in his head over and over, turned his fingers numb with cold. Just like a crack of lightning, or the lighting of a candle wick, a flare of shock pulsed through his body, leaving him feeling like ice.

L was dead. L _is_ dead. The idea seemed funny, like a dark joke. L was an untouchable force—he was _invincible_.

No, no. L wasn't invincible. L was still human. Just because he was their idol didn't change that fact; everyone dies, even L. And though Matt never particularly care about L, or wanted to be L, the news—the general _concept_ —of L's death left him breathless.

But surely—slowly but surely—the jumble of fear, and shock, and humor, and sadness dissipated. He was left feeling one thing. One thing that, now with a clear mind that he could think with, didn't fit in with the rest: bewilderment.

"That...That can't be right," Matt quietly mumbled; his lips felt frozen. "L _can't_ be dead."

"I...It's a shocking thing to hear, I know—"

"No, I mean that's literally—" Matt paused. "When did Roger tell you this? When did L die?"

Near narrowed his gaze slightly, answering, "November fifth."

 _Five months ago._ "Who's—Who's L now, then?"

"Since his death, there have been no reports in the media about L dying or any direct action from L regarding the Kira case or his general detective career. Basically, in the eyes of the public, he's been silent. As for who L is now...well, I suppose that would be me, once I graduate from the institution," Near answered.

"I-I know that! I mean right _now,_ has anyone taken L's place?"

"...What are you getting at, Matt?"

Matt turned his head to look down towards the darkened hallway that lead back to his room, and then faced Near again. "I have a USB drive with a bunch of confidential files on it from Government agencies and stuff—don't tell Roger. Anyway, I was bored last week so I hacked into L's network and copied a number of the files onto the drive."

"Couldn't they have been old files from L's computer?" Near questioned.

"No, because some were modified—created, even—the same day I accessed them. Even stranger, the person who has possession of the computer now booted me out once they realized I was on the network. I assumed it was L, but if he was dead at the time then..."

"...Then it can be reasonably assumed there's a new L. Somebody posing as L," Near finished, his eyes slightly wide.

"Which means, there might be a possibility that—"

"The new L is Kira?"

"Yes!"

The two boys met each other's gaze in silence for a good few moments, both processing the conclusion they had drawn. Obviously, there was no way to prove this theory. No way to prove it, unless they...

Near grinned widely; that same grin that was somehow a twisted mixture of both creepy and cute. "I would like to review this USB drive of your's."

And Matt couldn't help but return the favor with his own smile. Standing up with Near and feeling happier than he had in months, he lead the way back down to his room.


End file.
